


After Hours

by queenhomeslice



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Bisexual Suoh Tamaki, Bottom Ootori Kyouya, Consensual Underage Sex, Established Relationship, M/M, One-Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Secret Relationship, Top Suoh Tamaki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:27:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23425486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenhomeslice/pseuds/queenhomeslice
Summary: Tamaki and Kyouya stay late after the Host Club has ended for the day
Relationships: Ootori Kyouya/Suoh Tamaki
Comments: 10
Kudos: 351





	After Hours

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: OHSHC belongs to Bisco Hatori, Shojo Beat, Funimation, Viz Media. I do not own any of the characters or companies mentioned here and I am not making money from this work.
> 
> —————  
> This is pure crack, I have no idea what I’m doing.

The rest of the Host Club has gone home for the day. The glitter from their costumes sparkles on the floor in the late afternoon sunlight—it’s already nearing six pm. Kyouya sits at a table with his ever-present laptop, crunching their budget on a spreadsheet and scribbling down Tamaki’s wild ideas for the spring festival in his black notebook. 

The king himself is sweeping the floor—most would be surprised at the actual work that the two of them do behind the scenes. Ouran Academy has janitors, sure, but Kyouya and Tamaki like to personally see to the state of Music Room Three before the cleaning crew touches it. 

It’s endearing, really, watching Tamaki sweep the floors while humming a melody Kyouya doesn’t recognize. Probably a French lullaby, he muses, as he watches the low sunlight catch on his friend’s thick golden locks. Tamaki’s got his blue blazer off, thrown casually over the back of one of the chaise lounges, and his crisp white shirt is rolled to the elbows. Kyouya unconsciously licks his lips as he watches Tamaki’s forearms in motion with the broom. 

He’s forgotten all about event planning and Host fanbook sales, instead adjusting his glasses and crossing one long leg over the other to hide his budding arousal. 

Tamaki Suoh is the missing piece to Kyouya Ootori’s life, though the older boy would never admit that to anyone except Tamaki himself. How someone could be so hot, dense, annoying, and  wonderful  all at the same time is beyond him. Tamaki is simply a good person—selfless to a fault, a true oddity in the upper class political games that go on between the families of Ouran students. Kyouya fell hard and fast, before he even knew what was happening—their natural progression from forced friends—Kyouya’s father had said it would be in his best interest to befriend the Suoh boy, get in good with their family—to actual  friends,  to...what are they now, friends with benefits? Two teenage boys with out of control hormones simply using each other to get off?

No. Kyouya can  _act_ like a motherfucker, smile to someone’s face while planning their demise with the other party none the wiser—but he doesn’t act with Tamaki. And the king, for all his flustering about Haruhi, doesn’t act with him, either. Tamaki’s heart is simply so big, he has to have multiple outlets. But Kyouya smiles to himself—he knows he is Tamaki’s first. 

Tamaki turns, putting long lithe piano fingers on his thin bony hip, where Kyouya knows he left bruises the other night, and smiles at his best friend. 

“Ah, Kyouya! I think I’ve gotten most of it.” Tamaki smiles brilliantly, and it knocks the other boy breathless.

“Wonderful,” Kyouya says, licking his lips again and glancing back at his long-dormant computer. “I’ve run the numbers for next month’s budget. If we sell fifty fan books each, accounting for Haruhi’s debt, we’ll be about ten million yen in the green. We were conservative this month, and partnering with the drama club on costumes and props is certainly putting us in a better position.”

Tamaki keeps his smile and leans the broom against the window, all swagger and dripping sunlight as he approaches his friend. 

Kyouya’s breath hitches despite his best efforts to control himself. He knows the look Tamaki is giving him. 

“You’re so sexy when you’re all nerdy with numbers, Kyouya-sempai,” the blond purrs, planting both hands on the arms of the chair and trapping Kyouya in. 

Kyouya grins and adjusts his glasses. “Am I, now? “

And that’s how Kyouya finds himself in the smaller side room, in the grandiose king bed that Honey takes naps in, hurriedly stripping off his clothes. Tamaki isn’t going much slower, practiced poise in motion as he rids himself of his clothes. 

“What would you like, darling?” Tamaki says quietly. It’s adorable how he still gets shy after all this time. 

Kyouya cocks an eyebrow and thinks. Then he smirks. Tamaki is beautiful in any position, but “flustered” is the best of them all, in Kyouya’s opinion. Kuouya shrugs as Tamaki levels his stunning violet gaze him.

“Whatever you want... _daddy_. ”

The effect is immediate, with the blush starting from the sharp jut of Tamaki’s pale hips, creeping up his lean muscled torso, washing over his exotic half-European features in waves of crimson. 

Tamaki bites his lip and then says, “Shit.”

Kyouya laughs and digs in his inner blazer pocket for the single-use packet of lube and condom. 

Tamaki catches it with ease and shakes his head. “You’re killing me, Kyouya,” he murmurs as he crawls on the bed, hovering over the bespectacled boy and straddling one of his lean thighs. 

Kyouya makes a low noise of want in the back of his throat as Tamaki begins to rut against him. He wasn’t surprised, really, the first time he’d seen Tamaki naked. The trademark Suoh confidence and swagger could only come from having a cock to match all his talk, and Tamaki doesn’t disappoint. Kyouya thinks that he’s never seen a cock so perfect—he reaches down to grip Tamaki at the base. 

“Ah—Kyouya!” the blond sings. There’s no acting here, no fake romance or flowery talk. Kyouya knows that Tamaki can see through his walls—just as much as Kyouya can see through Tamaki’s practiced front. 

“Fuck me,” Kuouya says after several minutes of them rutting their cocks together. “Tamaki,  _please_.”

Tamaki’s breath hitches and he nods, shaky hands tearing at the notch in the lube packet. 

It’s a delicious burn that Kyouya never gets tired of. He goes pliant under Tamaki’s ministrations, allowing the blond to slip one slender finger into his willing channel easily. Tamaki pistons for a good minute before he curls up and actually hits Kyouya’s prostate, causing the older boy to arch his back and grip the silk sheets, nerves lighting up from the inside out, cock hard and red and leaking. 

“So beautiful,  _mon chér_ ,”  Tamaki coos, praising Kyouya as he comes down and allows a second finger in. Tamaki takes his time scissoring Kyouya open, murmuring in French. 

Kyouya doesn’t need a translator: he knows what Tamaki is saying, and the fluid rhythm of the foreign language causes a wave of fire deep in his belly. 

After Tamaki has set a steady pace with three of those incredibly talented fingers, Kyouya has to grip his erection hard to keep himself from coming. 

“ _René_ ,”  he gasps, and _oh_ —Tamaki can’t get the condom on himself fast enough when Kyouya strangles out his actual first name. 

“ _Je t’adore_ ,”  Tamaki purrs as he leans over and drags Kyouya into a filthy, passionate kiss.

Kyouya clenches his eyes shut and nods, trying not to cry. He knows that Tamaki means it. He can only ever be vulnerable with him, like this—not even his future wife will get to make love with him like Tamaki is now. 

“Are you ready for me?” Tamaki asks as he drags his fingers out, painstakingly slow. Kyouya whines at the loss. He feels empty, and nods furiously. “Please,” is all he trusts himself to say. It’s too much. It always is with Tamaki. 

The blond nods and grips himself, pushing Kyouya’s long leg up into the air as the head of his cock breaches Kyouya’s rim. He slides in a few inches and stills, throwing his head back at the vice grip of his best friend’s ass. 

“So good, Kyouya,” he sings. 

“ _Move_ ,  for fuck’s sake,” Kyouya hisses, but the attempted irritation falls flat. 

Tamaki laughs and grabs both of Kyouya’s ankles, resting them on his shoulders, and slides home, filling Kyouya completely. 

“Shit,” Kyouya spits, because he’s always taken off-guard with how good it feels. 

“How would you like me—“ Tamaki begins. 

“Hard, fast,” Kyouya whines as he flexes his muscles around the welcome intrusion of Tamaki’s length. “Fuck the stress out of me. You were annoying as shit today.”

The blond laughs and doesn’t even argue. He knows Kyouya is only half-serious. “Long day,” he agrees. He’s a generous lover, as he is generous in all things. He’s always willing to give Kyouya what he needs. Tamaki braces himself on one arm over Kyouya’s chest and takes Kyouya’s cock in his free hand, jerking it to completion as he claims Kyouya’s slick channel. “You don’t have to be so rude, you know. Let’s see if that pretty mouth of yours can say nice things about me, hm?”

Kyouya smirks as Tamaki leans down to kiss him again. 

On the ride home later that evening, in the back of the limo, Kyouya Ootori is flushed but sated, posture totally relaxed as he idly flips through his economics textbook. His phone dings, and he’s glad the partition is up, because surely the driver would notice the dance of emotions across his normally-stoic features. Tamaki can never resist sending him artful dick picks, even after they’ve made love. He sighs and wills himself not to get hard, but replies with a heart emoji anyway, because he knows Tamaki likes the bright little pictures. He leans his head back on the seat, closes his eyes, and smiles. The “princesses” who frequent the Host Club can only pretend to have a romance with Tamaki—Kyouya gets it for real. 


End file.
